Ivy and Infamy
by mrspencil
Summary: My responses to Hades' 2019 December Challenge. Chapter Thirty One: Midnight. A very Happy New Year wished for one and all!
1. Lullaby

_A/N: first in a series of responses to Hades' December Challenge. Many thanks to Hades for hosting this:-)_

_Prompt 1 from Hades: listen to Ben Caplan's "Lullaby", and write a response based on the song._

_I had not heard the song before...I hope to be kinder to Watson as the month progresses...this is set during the Hiatus._

* * *

**Lullaby**

* * *

Dr John Watson arrived home

From a complicated, but ultimately rewarding urgent late call;

Hat, coat, cane and Gladstone bag

Absently returned to their usual resting places in the dimly lit hall.

It was past midnight, all was silent

And most respectable folk were long abed.

He too, should sleep, but sat in front of the dying fire,

Reflecting on the evening's events instead.

The sights and sounds of the past few hours

Were vividly recalled; the step by step details of a difficult birth;

The young mother, her anxious family,

And, eventually, thank God, that first cry; the sweetest sound on Earth.

He smiled, grateful for one of the privileges of his profession,

Then damped the fire down and headed upstairs.

He reached the landing, and paused;

He turned away from his intended path, emotions catching him unawares.

A deep breath, a latch lifted, a slight hesitation;

And for the first time in months, he entered her room.

A candle on the dresser was carefully lit,

Casting light, making shadows dance, dissipating the gloom.

A comfortable chair by the window, an alphabet sampler above,

Stitched in a familiar delicate hand,

A painted chest of drawers, a patterned china bowl and jug,

Set out with linen on a small, tiled wash stand;

A colourful rag rug, each scrap picked out and carefully placed

And knotted, brightening the wooden floor.

Flower sprigged curtains: he could hear her exclamation of delight at the purchase;

Was it really just a year or so, before?

He ran his fingers along smooth, polished dark wood;

A beautiful carved oak cradle, in which no baby had ever slept.

He stood still for a moment, head bowed, then snuffed out the flame,

Closed the nursery door, moved on to his bedchamber alone,

Remembered Mary,

And wept.

~0~


	2. Invitation

_Prompt two from Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock is invited to meet with a cabal of other contemporary super genius sleuths._

* * *

**Invitation**

* * *

A papery thump in the Baker Street hallway

As letters through letterbox hit the tiled floor.

Tales in The Strand had increased popularity;

New clients, old clients, admirers and more.

Doctor Watson scooped up the diverse correspondence,

Returned to his desk with a world weary sigh.

He sorted the pile, grading interest and urgency;

An envelope; cream and gilt-edged, caught his eye.

~0~

He reached for an elegant bone-handled paperknife,

Slit open the missive with surgical skill,

And slid out a page of meticulous penmanship,

Read the first sentence then blinked, his hands still.

He called to his flat mate, absorbed in old documents,

Beckoned him over to view what he'd seen;

A neat looping script on the finest cream parchment;

Black ink with scrolled patterns of red in between.

~0~

Holmes frowned as he read it from heading to signature;

A collection of sleuths; super genius grade.

It referenced a Moonstone, a detective in Paris,

A Bleak House inspector, deductions they'd made.

An exclusive, unmatched and unique invitation

To thirteen great minds, stated date, place and time.

An historic occasion, a rare opportunity

For the best of the brains in the fight against crime.

~0~

Watson observed that Holmes' frown became deeper,

As he studied the envelope, paper and seal,

Shone a lamp at small details, checked scratch marks and creases;

Then sprang to his feet with conspicuous zeal.

"Quick! Watson! A telegram! Wiggins must take it.

Twelve copies to send to my colleagues, post haste!"

The youth duly summoned, he scribbled his message,

With the air of a man with no second to waste.

~0~

Watson stood patiently, clear explanations

Of Holmes' frantic actions would surely come soon.

He was simply informed he expected replies

From his scattered recipients, just after noon.

Holmes gestured the Doctor to sit and not worry.

"I am sure that the others weren't fooled, my dear chap.

It's clear that the writer has evil intentions;

Attempting to catch thirteen sleuths in his trap."

~0~

They waited for news in the Baker Street parlour,

Till a ring of the bell brought them both to the door.

A boy in a cap with a sheaf of responses;

Precisely the news Holmes had been hoping for.

Twelve telegrams counted, identical wording,

Confirming nefarious plans fallen flat.

Eight words which proclaimed a foul deed had been thwarted...

*_Moriarty will have to try harder than that...*_

~0~


	3. Lonely

_Prompt three from BookRookie 12: lonely_

_This follows on from chapter 2..._

_(I note, by the way, that PM alerts are not working; but story and review ones seem OK... I had to hunt for prompts and messages)_

* * *

**Lonely**

* * *

In the depths of his criminal mastermind lair,

Moriarty crossed each passing day off with care;

Till at last he had reached one last date, circled red.

He had plotted and planned from his mastermind bed,

And his mastermind parlour, and mastermind shed,

A trap he'd disguised as a super sleuth meeting;

A lethal and frankly unique Christmas greeting.

Each super sleuth genius got in the way

Of the criminal web he was weaving each day;

And now every super sleuth genius would pay...

~0~

He woke, for a change, as the new day was dawning,

Despite his deep-seated aversion to morning,

And summoned his henchmen, the worst in the land,

To carry out every last detail he'd planned;

The genius super sleuths deadly last stand.

The venue was perfect, a grand rented mansion,

He could afterwards use for his empire expansion.

Step one...all his henchmen would head there, and lurk

In the shadows, and wait...such despicable work;

Dispatching detectives...he allowed a sly smirk.

~0~

Ensconced in his criminal mastermind lair,

He watched from his black leather upholstered chair

As the minutes ticked on into hours...so slow!

And he pondered the certain demise of his foe.

At last it was time for his part in the show.

His black coach was waiting, with black horses...four,

And took him at speed to the mansion's front door.

He pictured the scene which awaited inside;

Each super sleuth genius bound up and tied.

He couldn't conceal his delight if he tried.

~0~

He stood, glint in eye, in his lizard skin coat,

And savoured the moment, a lump in his throat,

As he pictured the scene he would very soon see,

And he went through the speech he would give, gloatingly,

As the super sleuths begged for their lives, pointlessly.

He swept through the doorway; the moment of truth;

Found...nothing...no henchman, no bound super sleuth!

Instead, just a note, which he glumly unrolled;

Which declared he'd been thwarted; The Yard had got hold

Of his henchmen, whilst lurking; his blood turned ice cold...

~0~

For a second, just briefly, he felt, truth be told;

Defeated, and bitter, and lonely, and old.

~0~


	4. Scrap

_Prompt from winter winks 221: a scrappy waif_

* * *

**Scrap**

* * *

Arthur, by now a quite seasoned irregular,

Sat on his favourite bench in the park.

He was worn out with errands

From stalls in the market;

Had time to just sit there,

Before it got dark.

~0~

He wrapped his well-worn and patched jacket more tightly

Around him, observing the cold winter scene;

The fur-bedecked matrons,

The hurrying gentlemen,

Children who frolicked and

Tumbled between

~0~

He finished a slice of coarse bread and beef dripping,

Climbed down from his perch, he was ready to go.

He made his way homeward,

He knew every pathway,

Tripped over an obstacle

Curled in the snow.

~0~

The bundle swore loudly, to Arthur's astonishment

Sprang to its feet with an oath. A loud crack

As fist made connection

With Arthur, who suddenly

Found himself sprawled on the ground,

On his back.

~0~

He shook his head slowly, blood dripped to his collar;

A tender and rapidly swelling sore nose.

He scrambled up quickly,

His fists at the ready,

Then looked at the cause of the bloodshed,

And froze.

~0~

A skinny, belligerent, filthy opponent,

Not easy to tell if a boy or a girl.

Smaller than Arthur,

Eyes red-rimmed and tear stained,

Inadequate garments;

A dirty brown curl.

~0~

Anger was swiftly replaced by compassion;

He offered the urchin a small piece of bread;

Suspicion warred briefly with hunger;

He waited

And hoped that his gesture

Was worth a bruised head.

~0~

A movement so quick, it was easy to miss it;

The bread was no longer secure in his hand.

The waif was now running

Away through the parkland;

He sighed and gave chase

This was not what he'd planned.

~0~

He cornered his "prey" by an old disused greenhouse,

Offered more bread, and a tentative smile;

Crouched at a distance,

His manner unthreatening.

Calming suspicion

Might just take a while...

~0~

Ever so slowly, the waif moved towards him;

Held out a hand, wanting more bread to eat.

Arthur clasped firmly

Two small, bony fingers

And led his small charge home,

Towards Baker Street.

~0~

Arthur kept talking, a low friendly chatter

Attempting to put his companion at ease.

He draped his red scarf

Across sparsely clad shoulders

The day disappeared

And it started to freeze.

~0~

They walked through thick snow, past the cabs and the horses

Then stopped, Arthur reached for the big front door bell...

A fuss and a flurry;

Warm food and warm clothing;

A scrappy waif rescued;

Now all would be well.

~0~


	5. Zoo

_Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: A story which revolves around London Zoo._

_A 221B_

* * *

**Zoo**

* * *

Leaves are rustling,

Paws are padding,

Heart is racing,

Chill down spine.

Doctor,

Not a big game hunter.

Those professions

Don't combine.

~0~

Angry growling

Coming closer;

Far to close...

This isn't fair...

Holmes has stretched

His faithful Boswell's

Wish to help out

Anywhere

~0~

Reaches tree,

Holmes indicated,

Situation

Still too tense.

Odds increase

That Holmes will find

His partner's late,

In every sense.

~0~

Ring located

In the branches,

Must retreat

With all

Due speed.

Now the lion's

Picked his scent up.

Truly what

He didn't need...

~0~

Not quite sure

What Holmes expected;

Lion has the

Upper hand;

Circling round the

Tree below him,

Seems to have

His supper planned.

~0~

A shout from Holmes,

Who gestures from

The safe side

Of the lion's cage.

Tosses meat

Away from Watson;

Hopes to lure,

And disengage.

~0~

Lion seems keen

On steak for dinner;

Leaves treed surgeon;

Moves away.

Watson slides

Down trunk,

Ripped clothing seems

A tiny price

To pay.

~0~

He scoots across

To Holmes

And safety;

Picklocked gate

Is swiftly shut.

Huge relief;

Ordeal is over;

Evidence recovered,

But...

~0~

Holmes eyes Watson.

Watson's heart sinks;

Sees the speculative

Gleam.

Watson longs

For home and hearth

Sadly this

Is just a dream...

~0~

Holmes points out

A shallow pool,

With penguins

Swimming

Happily.

Watson sighs,

And wonders

What on Earth

His second task

Will be...

~0~


	6. Cake

_Prompt six from Ennui Enigma: weave the following three words into a story: holly, gun and fruitcake._

* * *

**Cake**

* * *

Mrs Hudson steeled herself;

The day she'd dreaded had arrived.

She wasn't one to shirk her duty,

Worse had happened...she'd survived.

Every chemical explosion,

Clients armed with sword or gun,

Violin played after midnight,

More than her fair share of "fun".

Yarders popping in at random,

Wailing women at the door.

Blackmail threats and flaming curtains;

Waifs and vagabonds and more.

Maybe Mister Holmes was busy,

Maybe he had changed his mind;

Perhaps an urgent new assignment

Claimed his time and Fates were kind.

She sighed, observed her tidy kitchen,

Trimmed with holly, mistletoe.

A peaceful, neat and cosy haven;

Mrs Hudson loved it so.

Resigned, she heard his tread on stairway;

Eager footsteps; seventeen.

One more glance at polished cookware

Copper gleaming, bright and clean.

In strode Holmes in hat and apron,

Strange unholy gleam in eye;

Mrs Hudson squared for action;

Ready now to do or die...

~0~

Four endless hours later...resulting mess in kitchen...incredible.

Holmes' somewhat battle-scarred and charred fruitcake...unsurprisingly, inedible...

~0~


	7. Wolf

_Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock Holmes is bitten by a werebeast and contracts lycanthropy._

(_This is actually prompt 8...slightly out of order...)_

* * *

**Wolf**

* * *

A most perplexing transformation;

Fur where fur had never been,

A fundamental dental shift

To sharp incisors, clearly seen.

The vaguest recollection of a race;

A chase, a midnight flight.

A hunt through narrow alleyways,

A howling dog, a scratch, a bite.

Holmes peered at his reflection;

Shook his furry pelt, and peered again.

Eliminate what cannot be...

Review what options still remain.

He scratched his ear and pondered

On this strange and random twist of fate.

The stuff of legends now made flesh;

An awful lot to contemplate.

He looked outside, the streets were bathed

In light, of course the moon was full.

He sighed, at least he could not say

Detective work was ever dull...

With steepled paws, and furrowed brow,

He thought about this recent case;

The gruesome murders, one each month.

At last the clues clicked into place...

And where was Watson? Sudden fear,

Which turned his lupine blood to ice.

A dreadful thought; had Watson made

A final, noble sacrifice?

He scampered down to Watson's room,

Afraid his friend might not be there.

He flung aside the door, rushed in

And could not help but stop and stare.

A silver-grey and handsome creature,

(Clearly Watson), stared right back,

Observing every inch of Holmes;

The wiry frame, the fur; coal-black.

Such empathy, as wolf met wolf;

No words were needed, both men knew

Precisely what had crossed their path

And what the pair of them must do...

~0~

Two shadowed shapes leave Baker Street

In silvered moonlight, hunt their prey.

A killer brought to justice in the most

Extraordinary way...

~0~


	8. Gun

_Prompt from hold dot my dot coat [FF won't let me spell their name correctly]: No matter how often it happens, a gun in your face is scary._

* * *

**Gun**

* * *

A single bead of perspiration trickles down from brow to jaw;

Hope against all hope, God willing, Holmes will crack the case, before...

(Train of thought is interrupted, barrel pressed against my head;

A painful, harrowing reminder)...Holmes may find my corpse instead.

Long career as doctor/soldier/friend and close associate

Means that this is not the first time, held at gun point, used as bait.

Dealt before with consequences, weapons fired in war and peace.

Horror at the wounds inflicted, lives cut short, will never cease.

Undoubtedly, a ring shaped bruise, upon my temple, will appear.

If Holmes has not yet solved the problem, not the only souvenir

Of this unfortunate encounter. Hard to slow each panicked breath,

Hard to hide the rising panic, faced with almost certain death.

I smile, a feeble parody of true good cheer, devoid of joy;

My strategy; provoke, distract and misdirect, unnerve, annoy.

My scornful words, whilst heart beats faster, voice is hoarse and throat is dry;

I mock my foes' attempt at kidnap; confidence my nerves deny.

I'm pressed to silence, ears are ringing, pushed with unkind force to ground,

Cannot block an awkward landing, not while arms are tightly bound.

Blur of sudden sound and motion, shots are fired, my captors fall;

Holmes, it seems, deduced the villains' plans; good timing after all.

Mindful of my aching shoulder, Holmes assists, I roll upright.

Relief as chafing bonds are loosened, ropes were knotted far too tight.

Blindfold off, I blink in reflex; squinting in the pale dawn light.

Holmes expression matches mine;

The end of such a fear-filled night.

~0~


	9. Fowl

_Prompt from Book girl fan: A murder most fowl._

_( I can only apologise...)_

* * *

**Fowl**

* * *

A conversation interrupted:

Doctor Watson at the Yard;

Office door is flung wide open,

Holmes swans in and slams it, hard.

Lestrade and Watson stare at Holmes,

He's covered in a yellow fluff;

An egg sized swelling on his brow,

He looks as though he's had enough.

A chair's pulled out for Holmes to sit on,

Catch his breath and start to grouse;

He's been to Wilson's,

The notorious canary trainer's,

Unkempt house.

A glass of water, grateful swallow,

Clears his throat, and starts to speak,

Declares it won't be long at all,

Till Wilson's up before the beak.

Composure back, he crows a little,

Laughs at his infernal luck;

Rubs his bruised and tender wound,

"A shame that I forgot to duck,"

He tells them of his strange adventure,

Stalking Wilson, eagle-eyed;

Watching every single movement,

Nowhere for his foe to hide.

Trailed him to his cheep, rough lodgings;

Part of town where lowlife flock;

Waited till he'd put the lights out,

Cased the joint and picked the lock.

Confronted Wilson in his bedroom,

Sorting loot, his guilt inferred.

Wilson gave no explanation,

Did not say a dicky bird;

Scorned Holmes presence, took no notice,

Continued with the task in hand;

Counting notes out, risks ignored;

An ostrich with its head in sand.

This carried on till Holmes announced

That Wilson's fellow thief was dead,

As dead in fact, as any dodo...

Wilson paused, and shook his head;

His feathers ruffled, interest piqued,

He turned to Holmes, then craned his neck

And whistled, his canary call,

Then smiled at Holmes and hit the deck.

A fluttering yellow storm appeared,

Holmes lost his footing, staggered back;

Whirled around by flapping wings,

He hit the door, a stunning crack.

Wilson preened,

As proud as any peacock,

With his clever ruse.

Untroubled at his sidekick's fate;

That stool pigeon he'd killed...not news.

He raised his gun, and aimed at Holmes,

But, something he had overlooked;

Canary droppings on the floor.

He slipped and fell...his goose was cooked!

Holmes waited till the yellow perils

Found the open door, flew high

Then carefully he crossed the floor;

Of course, once bittern, twice as shy.

"So Wilson, quite unconscious,

Was dispatched to prison cell, and then..."

Holmes paused to glare at Watson,

Fussing round him like a mother hen.

Lestrade absorbed his thrilling tale,

Unblinking, like a watchful owl.

"...and then, each jigsaw piece was there;

I'd solved the case!

This crime most fowl!"

~0~


	10. Waif

_Prompt from Domina Temporis: An Irregular Christmas._

_A continuation of chapter 4_

_A drabble._

* * *

**Waif**

* * *

In Baker Street at Christmas time;

One gang of boys,

One waif;

Now bathed and placed in chair

By fire;

Well fed,

Well warmed,

And safe.

~0~

In huge and

Patched wool jacket,

Collar touching

Each

Brown curl;

A puzzle has been swiftly solved;

Young Arthur saved

A girl!

~0~

She stares

At cards,

And lights,

And tree;

With stunned and awed

Wide eyes;

Her hands wrapped round

A mug of tea;

Nearby,

Two small

Mince pies.

~0~

She does not speak,

But hears the boys' light chat,

Nods drowsily.

She's learned for once

Just how benign

This harsh, cold world

Can be.

~0~


	11. Failure

_Prompt from PowerOfPens: Holmes reacts badly when clients die._

* * *

**Failure**

* * *

Two o'clock; time checked by lamplight, Doctor Watson's wide awake;

Violin disturbed his slumber, two o'clock, for heavens sake!

Melancholy music playing, haunting sound, which fills the night,

Highs and lows, as notes die down, build up again, and soar in flight.

Dr Watson; tired, disgruntled, wants this serenade to end;

Out of bed, robe wrapped around him, leaves the room to find his friend.

Watches from the parlour doorway; Holmes in moonlit silhouette,

Totally absorbed in music, has not noticed Watson yet.

Papers scattered all around him, penned in Holmes' distinctive scrawl;

Watson recognises cases, does not need to read them all...

Dancing Men, Five Orange Pips, the details of the Devil's Foot.

Doctor Watson sighs and leaves, the parlour door is gently shut;

He heads to Mrs Hudson's kitchen, water's boiled for pot of tea;

If Holmes is going to mourn lost clients, he might just want some company...

~0~


	12. Upstart

_Prompt from BookRookie12: Someone new._

_A drabble_

* * *

**Upstart**

* * *

"Someone new...", the whisper echoes,

Round the cobblestones at night.

Darkest, dreadful deeds uncovered,

What was wrong is put to right.

~0~

"Someone new...", the rumours rattle

Round the halls of Scotland Yard.

Unsolved cases now have answers,

London's worst are on their guard.

~0~

"Someone new..." the word is spreading,

Tales of each deductive feat;

Desperate clients, haunted victims,

Make their way to Baker Street.

~0~

"Someone new..." his fame is rising

Stories published in The Strand;

Exploits carefully recorded

In his faithful Boswell's hand.

~0~

"Someone new..." reverberations

Penetrate the spider's lair;

When this upstart meets his downfall;

Moriarty will be there...

~0~


	13. Luck

_Prompt from Book girl fan: Bad luck strikes._

* * *

**Luck**

* * *

If Doctor Watson hadn't left so late from evening surgery;

If Holmes had not decided he would take an evening stroll;

If Arthur had not ventured out to give his dog some exercise;

If Hopkins and Lestrade had walked a different night patrol;

If Mrs Hudson hadn't needed spices quite so urgently;

If Wiggins hadn't found a broken bootlace caused delay;

If Mycroft hadn't made a rare excursion from his Whitehall pad;

Then one vile gang of villains would have safely got away...

~0~

Fickle fate or karma, just desserts or mere coincidence;

A daring theft, the perpetrators heading out of town.

A startled exclamation from Lestrade who saw the getaway;

Events conspiring speedily, to bring the scoundrels down...

A swiftly wielded truncheon, and a back swing from a Gladstone bag;

Some deftly placed baritsu moves; a brolly neatly struck;

A hound and two Irregulars, a match for any fleeing foe;

A cab turned round to block the road; that's really all it took...

~0~

A glass of wine in Baker Street, for those who joined the escapade.

A toast to thieves in custody, their damnable bad luck!

~0~


	14. Moor Revenge

_Prompt from ThatSassyCaptain: Lots of people have tried to kill Holmes (Doyle included). Today's prompt is attempted murder!_

* * *

**Moor Revenge**

* * *

Huddled in a moorland parlour;

Crisp clear sky, and snow on ground.

Steaming mugs of cream-topped coffee;

Warmth for hands to wrap around.

Heading out for festive visit;

Baskerville, three days with friends.

Previous visit, quite traumatic;

Sir Henry's keen to make amends.

Coach is due in half an hour,

Caught the Devon train last night;

Holmes stands up, surveys the vista;

Tors stand out in morning light.

Something in a cottage window

Gleams and shifts, to catch his eye;

Holmes dives down, protecting Watson;

Coffee cups and bullets fly...

~0~

Gunfire roars, then all is silent.

Shaken, Holmes looks round in dread;

Serving girl appears uninjured;

Watson too; he lifts his head.

Staying low, aware of danger;

Holmes peers out through shattered pane;

Sees a figure leave the cottage,

Head across the wild terrain.

Holmes sets out across the moorland.

Watson sighs and follows suit.

Who on earth would wish to kill them?

A wild and hazardous pursuit.

Wind blown grasses, rocks and heather;

Holmes and Watson pick their way;

Mindful of the mires and marshlands

Stapleton's grim fate that day.

~0~

The weather tests their winter clothing;

Cold seeps in through layers of wool;

Snow and ice make heavy going

Limbs grow weary, senses dull.

Still they track the fleeing figure,

See it stumble, rise and fall.

Thoughts return to mournful howling,

And the bittern's plaintive call.

Ground is gained, with every footstep;

Inch by inch they're closing in

Prey has slowed, has faltered, limping;

Turns and fires, a dreadful din.

Holmes and Watson, both are ready;

Flatten down as shots ring out.

Watson crawls to circle slowly;

Holmes distracts their foe, a shout.

~0~

Call returned, to Holmes' amazement;

Clear and high, a female voice.

Heard in splendid West End chambers;

Wonders at her desperate choice.

Recalls her cold and perfect beauty;

Those discarded in her wake

What disaster had befallen,

Led to such a step to take?

He sees her now, her altered profile;

Ravaged features once so fine.

Hate and rage and fallen fortunes

Twisted Isadora Klein.

She raves about the whispered rumours

Following her lover's death.

A blocked engagement, fortunes frittered;

Cursing Holmes with every breath.

~0~

Shunned by those she once had courted,

Catastrophic fall from grace.

Bitter disappointment read in

Every line upon her face.

Pistol raised, as Holmes stands silent;

Blamed for every turn of fate;

Hopes to keep her full attention

Sees her frown and hesitate.

Sees her scan the moor for Watson;

Double murder clearly planned.

A figure rises up, disarms her;

Watson has things well in hand..

A sombre party leaves the moorland;

Isadora firmly bound

Leaving windswept moor, and whispered

Echoes of a giant hound.

~0~

Coach is waiting, young Sir Henry

Greets both men impatiently;

Puzzled as to who their new and

Clearly angry friend might be.

Telegram dispatched to London,

Policeman notified as well;

Isadora's life in ruins,

Bundled off to prison cell.

Uneventful final journey

Baskerville at last in sight;

Granite walls seems less forbidding

Warmed by rays of winter light.

Warm and life enhancing welcome

Lies behind the large oak door.

Good friends, good food and conversation;

Who could really ask for moor?

~0~

* * *

_A/N: Villainess is from "The Adventure of the Three Gables."_


	15. Addendum

_From BookRookie12: Holmes sends a message_

* * *

**Addendum**

* * *

_Sir Arthur Conan Doyle blinked twice,_

_Reread the ink-stained note,_

_Then sighed, and called the editor,_

_For this is what Holmes wrote..._

~0~

Dear Doyle,

You act as agent for my sounding board and friend;

Please add this to each story

Or your source of tales will end.

I'm not the type of person

Who would make an idle threat,

And, as you know, from Watson's work,

I've not been bettered yet.

An unintended consequence

Of uninvited fame,

Has caused me inconvenience,

And put me off my game.

So, here's my full addendum;

My sincere and calm response.

Act now, or my renowned good will,

Will be withdrawn at once...

~0~

Dear Reader,

I would beg a few mere minutes of your time;

Before you plumb whole heartedly

The depths of vice and crime.

By all means gain some pleasure from the workings of my brain;

But please, consider carefully, what should in fact be plain.

Regardless of temptation, if my work has touched you so,

Please don't put pen to paper, for I do not need to know!

I do not need an avalanche of letters every day.

A gushing tide of pointless praise can truly spoil my day.

And ladies, in particular, should clearly understand;

I do not want a wedding ring, prefer a speckled band!

Miss Adler, too, is not who I have pined for, my whole life;

A fascinating foe, indeed, but no potential wife.

You do not hold that special key which might unlock my heart,

A hundred of you, maybe more, have claimed this, for a start!

I thrive on intellectual pursuits, and happenstance;

I have no views on all the stuff and nonsense of romance.

Don't send me scented handkerchiefs, or lines of fulsome prose,

(I wish the doctor never penned my words upon a rose.)

I don't require another close associate and friend;

A female Watson substitute is not what I intend.

I cannot sort your marriage out, I will not find your cat,

I won't deduce your inner soul, so do not send your hat!

And Watson's declaration of just what his wound was worth,

Applies to him, and only him, There's nothing to unearth!

And pipes, yes, I'll admit that I smoke several, happily

But need no more, and all received have gone to charity.

And finally the type of hat devised for stalking deer;

I only need but one of them, not hundreds, is that clear?

Please learn from my adventures and embrace each written word,

But don't presume you know me, you do not, that's quite absurd.

Continue in this vein, and I shall move to foreign shores,

And you will read of my untimely death,

Sincerely Yours...

~0~


	16. Thief

_From Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock becomes obsessed with catching a master thief that seems able to outsmart the detective at every turn._

_A drabble_

* * *

**Thief**

* * *

Lestrade and Holmes in deep discussion;

One more necklace disappeared;

One fine ruby bracelet vanished;

Many new reports; more feared.

~0~

Holmes is stumped, but won't admit it;

Has not eaten, has not slept.

Scoured the streets but found no answers;

Not a clue where hoard is kept.

~0~

Jewels purloined from streets and houses;

No one glimpsed at scene of crime;

Thefts seem random, no set pattern;

Nothing pins the place and time.

~0~

Holmes sets out once more, quite weary;

The game's still on; a long hard quest...

And on the roof in Baker Street,

A magpie lines her gaudy nest.

~0~


	17. Airworthy

_Prompt from ThatSassyCaptain: On this day in 1903 The Wright brothers made the first sustained motorized aircraft flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Give Holmes (of any year) a flying adventure_

_A Drabble_

* * *

**Airworthy**

* * *

Holmes steeled his nerves, looked out, around him;

Stomach nearly back in place.

Clouds and sky; the world below him...

Far below. He moved to brace

Himself against the constant motion;

Most unsettling; up and down.

He saw that Watson seemed relaxed,

Addressed him with a worried frown.

"Watson, I confess, I'm puzzled;

Like me, you've never flown before;

The height, the flight has not distressed you.

Why, dear chap? Please tell me more."

The doctor grinned, then spoke, " Dear Holmes,

I take such movement in my stride;

My time with you prepared me well

For such a rollercoaster ride."

~0~


	18. Army Medic

_Prompt from Winter Winks 221: 'The bells of England fair shall ring again!'_

_A rondeau_

* * *

**Army Medic**

* * *

The bells shall ring, of England fair,

In celebration, everywhere;

When war is done and guns are still;

And none requires my surgeon's skill;

And all can start to mend; repair.

~0~

For those now lost in deep despair;

As overflowing shelters fill

With those who need a medic's care;

The bells shall ring.

~0~

No time to rest, no strength to spare;

A moment of relief is rare;

For those I heal return to kill,

To fall, to follow orders till

Above the cries, and smoke-filled air;

The bells shall ring.

~0~


	19. To sleep

_Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: Either Holmes or Watson needs a new mattress._

* * *

**To Sleep...**

* * *

Doctor John Watson was tossing and turning;

He could not get settled in bed.

It seemed far too bumpy and lumpy to slumber;

He moved to the sofa instead.

Holmes found him next morning,

As day was just dawning;

His blanket and pillow askew.

He looked fairly rumpled and crumpled and weary,

And grumpy and bleary eyed too.

Holmes drew back the curtain, quite sure and quite certain

That daylight would brighten his mood;

But words filled with tension, too startling to mention;

Were muttered, a few were quite rude.

This stream of abuse, allowed Holmes to deduce

That perhaps he should leave him to doze.

His conductor of light did not look very bright,

And in need of a peaceful repose.

In fact he looked dreadful, Holmes tried to be helpful;

A lullaby played...violin.

But the good doctor sadly, reacted quite badly;

Complained of the terrible din.

Hurt silence, whilst Holmes sat and sulked for a second;

Perplexed at his sleep deprived state.

What manner of nightmare had flattened the fellow;

Caused matters to thus escalate?

He traced his friend's wander from parlour to bedroom,

And looked at the facts of the case;

Then sat on the doctor's old mattress to ponder,

And everything fell into place...

~0~

Doctor John Watson was peacefully sleeping;

Enthralled by a wonderful dream,

On soft downy feathers packed smoothly together;

New mattress, result of Holmes' scheme,

And Holmes was delighted, a wrong had been righted;

Insomniac partner no more.

No sound more endearing, than Holmes was now hearing;

His friend and associate's snore...

~0~


	20. Asteroid

_Prompt from PowerOfPens: Holmes has to learn about astronomy._

* * *

**Asteroid**

* * *

"Holmes, my dear fellow, it's two in the morning!"

The bleary-eyed doctor addressed his good friend.

"Four nights in a row, you have sat here in silence;

What possible purpose, and when will it end?"

A table lamp lit, and Holmes closely scrutinised;

Watson's brow furrowed, concern on his face;

Dark shadows, strained features, and cheeks gaunt and hollow.

"Holmes! You've been working too hard on a case!"

The detective smiled wanly, then turned to the bookshelf,

Retrieved a small volume, its title writ plain;

"The Dynamics of an Asteroid", James Moriarty.

"Dear Watson, I've read this again and again;

The theory of chaos, an uncertain universe;

Reduced to mere numbers; a cold, soulless game;

I have to learn more of this elusive professor,

His stark calculations, his ultimate aim.

There are strands to connect, there's a pattern unfolding;

A danger emerging, I cannot ignore."

Watson was tempted to scoff, but a shiver

Went through him like nothing had chilled him before.

Holmes shook his head briskly, dispersing his demons,

And added a comment, he could not resist;

"And at least, if I'm wrong, I've now studied astronomy;

Item three of -my limits- to strike from your list!"

~0~

* * *

_A/N:Item three refers to a list of Holmes' limits compiled by Dr Watson in "A Study in Scarlet"._


	21. Spinning

_Prompt from ThatSassyCaptain: "In critical moments, men sometimes see exactly what they wish to see."_

_An experiment..._

* * *

**Spinning**

* * *

The wheels, incidentally, were still spinning on the crazily angled, upturned coach;

Watson struggled to his feet, dazed and damaged, and dimly heard two men approach.

In no fit state to resist, he was led away, helpless and securely bound;

The thick branch used to halt his horses, abandoned carelessly on the ground.

~0~

_Holmes braced himself against the biting Himalayan winds, the constant bitter cold._

_He wrapped his robes more tightly, squinted at the sunrise, watched another day unfold._

_His travels in such remote regions of the world had brought a measure of satisfaction, but no peace of mind;_

_He thought about the decisions ahead, the enemies he had tracked to their lairs, the temple he had just left behind..._

~0~

The good doctor was pushed with some force into a stone flagged room; the door slammed and bolted shut.

_The consulting detective, head down against the elements, trekked his way to a remote, weather beaten hut._

~0~

The doctor rolled over with some difficulty, and could not suppress a groan as he strived to sit upright.

_The detective reached the sturdy wooden door, hauled it open, stumbled inside, and shut the door tight._

~0~

Watson strained his muscles, testing the rope and cursing the stupidity which had got him into this mess.

_Holmes crouched on the floor, set a small fire blazing, and reread the brief message in his hand; at long last, success._

~0~

It was too late for regrets; Watson should have told Lestrade where he was going; frustration mingled with despair.

_Holmes watched the shadows dancing on the walls; shapes merged and scattered; and, for a brief moment, his Boswell was there._

~0~

The grey light of dawn filtered through a high grille; Watson, half-dozing, heard a familiar, impossible, sardonic voice...

_Holmes blinked as the shadows and shapes lost substance, then smiled; thanks to his friend, he had made his choice_.

~0~

The doctor loosened his bonds, morale boosted from an entirely unexpected quarter; he would not be defeated.

_The detective shouldered his belongings, left the hut, and set his sights on Baker Street; ready for home, mission completed._

~0~


	22. Exceptions

_Prompt from Book girl fan: Mycroft is not alone this Christmas_

* * *

**Exceptions**

* * *

Mycroft is not the most social of characters;

Whitehall, his home, the Diogenes Club.

His knowledge and influence spread beyond boundaries;

But silence and solitude lie at the hub.

His office is practical, neat and well ordered,

His home is described in a fellow scribe's tale, *

His club is designed for the shy and the privileged;

Where comfort, reflection and stillness prevail.

~0~

There are times when he stops and surveys his small kingdom;

Predictable, steady, in every which way;

And is scornful of those steeped in mayhem and chaos;

Surprises, disasters, new havoc each day.

But now as he sits in his elegant armchair,

One glass of fine wine to enjoy, perhaps more;

A pile of neat documents stacked on the table;

As Christmas approaches; he isn't so sure.

~0~

He is startled away from his thoughts, his self pity;

A joyous cacophony out on the street.

Two familiar voices not always in harmony;

Sing loudly and clearly, blend in and compete.

He smiles, he'd forgotten his own random element;

Brother, detective, free spirit, wise fool.

He summons a servant, preparing for company;

Exceptions are useful for proving a rule...

~0~

* * *

_A/N: * see Ennui Enigma's Seasonal Scribbles Ch. 13 Mycroft's Home._


	23. Potato

_Prompt from V Tsuion: Potatoes_

_Includes characters from previous chapters._

* * *

**Potato**

* * *

Woollen cap pulled low on forehead;

Jacket collar buttoned high;

Shoulders hunched against the snow storm;

Ice on cobbles, flakes fill sky.

Breath forms clouds, his single sentence,

"Hot potatoes, buy them hot!"

His cry competes with other sellers;

Most rush past him;

Two do not...

~0~

Two small figures, well wrapped bundles,

Stop beside his battered cart;

One holds out a tarnished farthing;

His smile would melt the coldest heart.

The vendor grins, and from bright embers

Lifts their purchase, then one more;

Knows precisely who he's serving;

Holmes has helped him out before.

~0~

Hands are warmed, as hot steam rises;

They nod their thanks and scoot away;

Slipping down the frozen alleys;

Shadows in the fading day.

They find a quiet and sheltered corner,

Both devour their well earned treat.

Young Arthur, and the waif, young Alice,

Heading home to Baker Street.

~0~


	24. Holy

_Prompt from Book girl fan: O Holy Night_

_Wishing all who celebrate it, a Merry Christmas._

* * *

**Holy**

* * *

Streets of London, noise and bustle;

Busy markets, traders hustle;

Holmes and Watson heading home;

A busy, unforgiving day.

Elusive villains apprehended;

Countless patients cured or mended;

Skills well used to help the sick,

Or demonstrate that crimes don't pay.

~0~

Coaches over cobbles clatter;

Children shriek and matrons chatter;

Wearily, they wander through

The madding crowd.

It starts to snow.

Soft and gentle snowflakes falling;

Muffle sounds of vendors calling;

All is hushed and calm and still;

Beneath the lamplights' filtered glow.

~0~

Slow and steady transformation;

Atmosphere of celebration;

Imperfections disappear;

A sparkling blanket, cold and white.

All around, church bells start ringing;

Distant strains of carol singing;

Two return to Baker Street;

On Christmas Eve.

O holy night.

~0~


	25. Role Play

_Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler, Wiggins, or/and other characters become obsessed with a new type of game Watson invented; a "role-playing game."_

**Role Play**

* * *

Christmas Day in Baker Street, Watson's turn to choose a game;

They've found the thimble, played charades, Holmes pinned the donkey's tail...poor aim.

He thinks a moment, finds some paper, grins and writes a little list,

Then turns to each invited guest, he has a plan they can't resist.

A hat, the paper torn in strips, each person picks a fragment blind;

Then has to act in every way just like whichever name they find.

The winner is whoever stays in character the longest time;

From Doctor through Irregular, to dark Napoleon of crime.

~0~

Excitement and amusement as they unfold paper, check their choice;

Wiggins is the first to speak, in high and somewhat screeching voice;

He's Irene Adler, opera singer; match for Holmes; adventuress.

Lestrade is Mrs Hudson, mimics tone and stance with some success.

Holmes becomes a streetwise urchin, loses years before their eyes;

Mrs Hudson makes a scary Moriarty, no surprise.

Irene Adler channels Holmes, with hawklike gaze and smoking pipe

And Watson's now a Scotland Yarder, ferret like, the quiet type.

~0~

Arthur is a proud physician, borrows props from Gladstone bag;

Game continues on through dinner, Watson is the first to flag;

He sits to watch the rest performing; Irene wreathed in clouds of smoke;

Holmes now barefoot, clothes in tatters, doffing cap at decent folk.

Wiggins sings in shrill soprano, Mrs Hudson scowls, aloof;

Outside on a glittering nest, a magpie watches from the roof.

Lestrade is tasked to clear the table, set the service out for tea;

Calls for help from "Moriarty", loses game, immediately...

~0~

Mrs Hudson tries reacting like a criminal mastermind,

But alas, her kitchen needs her, role is done, she shrugs, resigned.

Holmes picks Irene Adler's pocket, Wiggins sings a solo song;

Irene Adler burns the curtains, Arthur gets prescriptions wrong,

He's lost , but Watson smiles at him, then at Lestrade, they tiptoe out;

Settle in the cosy kitchen, fresh baked goods lie all about.

A wine glass each, a warm mince pie, a toast to those, so sadly gone;

While upstairs in the parlour, three performers carry on and on...

~0~


	26. Quiet

_Prompt from sirensbane: A quiet moment._

_A continuation of chapter 25: Role Play, where Wiggins plays Irene Adler, Holmes plays Wiggins, and Irene Adlar plays Holmes..._

* * *

**Quiet**

* * *

Long past midnight, guests are leaving;

Holmes and Watson watch them go;

Wiggins at long last triumphant,

His Irene Adler stole the show.

Holmes had dropped a point, forgetting

Urchins liked to decorate.

He'd sneered at festive fripperies;

In sniping thus, he'd sealed his fate.

Irene Adler, hung on gamely;

Put down Watson, mocked the Yard;

Proclaimed herself a genius;

Holmesian touches weren't so hard.

She carried on in splendid form;

Delighted in creating mess;

Fresh scorch marks on the tablecloth

A testament to her success.

Wiggins engineered her downfall;

A cry of pain, she looked concerned.

The mask was far too swiftly lifted;

Defeat declared; a lesson learned.

~0~

Wheels on cobbles, farewells fading;

Mrs Hudson bids good night.

A nightcap in the cosy parlour;

Two glasses raised in flickering light.

Tomorrow brings demanding patients,

Worried clients, toil and strife;

For now, they'll rest, enjoy the brief

Illusion of a peaceful life.

Holmes and Watson have no need

To talk, they know instinctively

That at this moment, there's no doubt,

There's nowhere they would rather be.

~0~


	27. Falling

_Prompt from Book girl fan: Falling._

_a/n: Mrs P goes all experimental..._

* * *

**Falling**

* * *

It had taken a long time for Dr Watson to find his feet again.

He had lost his footing completely in the fevered and bullet ridden months

Following the worst of battles on Afghanistan's plain.

He remained unsteady, unemployed and unanchored, in the cheap lodgings which his

Ungenerous army pension decreed was his fate.

His cane could only do so much, to help external balance; inside he was still falling,

Unable to grab onto opportunity or purpose to alter that state.

A lifeline unexpectedly appeared in the hands of an old medical acquaintance;

Watson took a tentative hold, and hauled himself up onto the most solid and peculiar of bases;

A base which let him catch his breath and his sanity; a foundation on which he built

A medical practice, a marriage, a writing career and a unique friendship; with shared danger,

Excitement, tragedy and the most intriguing of cases...

~0~

These thoughts passed fleetingly, as Watson picked up the paper, which had been weighed down by a silver cigarette case;

Heard the churning waters rage below, and recognised the familiar scrawl.

He gazed down at the unfathomable depths, as his world changed axis, everything tilted,

And he was thrown off balance, once more.

Holmes' Alpine stock would never be enough;

Nothing could break this particular fall...

~0~


	28. Clan Watson

_Prompt from from Hades Lord of the Dead: The Watson clan._

_Gosh...googling is quite distracting...and enlightening..._

* * *

**Clan Watson**

* * *

Oh look!

The snow is falling fast!

A chance to stay at home at last;

Just Mrs Hudson, you and me,

The hours will pass delightfully.

I have a tale to tell, you see.

What tale could be more epic than

The story of the Watson clan?

~0~

Stop scowling Holmes, and I'll begin...

My lovely surname's origin.

Means "Son of Walter", just the man

To start the noble Watson clan.

It has a range of tartan too

(Well, not till 1950, true...)

In shades of yellow, green and blue,

Of ancient and of modern hue.

And common Watson Christian names

Throughout the years, are John and James;

Delightful names, both proud and strong...

No wonder Mary got it wrong;

She knew that history, all along.

~0~

From Edinburgh's low lands we hail,

The warrior's heart and skills prevail,

I joined the army after all;

Responding to my country's call.

(But such bad luck;

I came unstuck

And failed to duck;

A bullet struck...

Survival, thanks to Murray's pluck.)

~0~

My family crest, a sturdy oak,

Just perfect for a stalwart bloke.

Stop smirking Holmes, it's not a joke;

Your sneer is clear through clouds of smoke;

My ancestors were hardy folk..

And yes my brother drank a lot,

And really, truly lost the plot...

But I have got what he had not;

A strange and quite annoying friend,

Who helped past wounds and grief to mend;

Then faked his own dramatic end:

A weird and quite unique godsend.

~0~

Back to subject, family crest,

And family motto, quite the best...

Holmes, please try to look impressed

"Inspirata floruit" in Latin, here's the rough translation...

"Flourishing beyond expectation."

Or, as recorded in our tomes;

You'll never get my limits, Holmes...

~0~

I could continue on and on...

But look!

The snow storm's almost gone.

I'll end my fascinating talk,

In favour of a pleasant walk

Through Regent's Park,

Before it's dark,

With you, my friend,

Dear Holmes.

~0~

The End


	29. Ye Gods

_Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: When a pantheon of gods unexpectedly appear out of myth and into reality with demands to be worshipped and treated as the rightful rulers of Britain, Sherlock becomes the leader of the rebellion against the gods._

_okay then..._

* * *

**Ye Gods**

* * *

Holmes sighed and double checked his detailed "streets of London" map,

And checked his pocket watch, his friend was late...a grave mishap?

He smiled as Watson dropped beside him, trapdoor overhead;

Since gods now ruled the country, they'd moved underground instead.

The stuff of myth and legend, they'd appeared three months ago,

And taken over London, such a dastardly bad show.

No wars, no deaths, no illnesses, they'd caused such things to cease;

Just endless, mindless worshipping, a hefty price for peace.

However, Holmes was not the type to cravenly give in;

He had a plan, a cunning plan, just waiting to begin.

From Mycroft's secret bunker, he had put his plan in place;

A last resort, the only chance, to save the human race.

He turned to Watson, caught his eye, the trap was laid and set;

"We'll show those ancient gods, dear chap, it isn't over yet!"

A ship had docked, quite stealthily; the cargo whisked away

And placed within the palace gates, with minimal delay.

The Yarders and Irregulars had played their vital part;

Now Holmes and Watson waited for the final phase to start.

Just silence...then a terrified, loud screaming reached their ears;

Holmes smiled, now sure of victory, an end to all their fears.

They left the secret bunker, headed out to view the scene;

A flag, a white flag, fluttered from the palace, bright and clean.

The gods, a quite dejected bunch, lined up in single file;

Apologised for taking over Britain for a while.

Every single one of them looked shaken, shocked and scared;

They'd seen a sight for which the world, till now, was not prepared...

The gods departed, chastened by the ease of their defeat,

And Holmes and Watson headed back, relieved, to Baker Street;

That night, the ship, Matilda Briggs, and cargo, left the port;

Returning to Sumatra to release what had been caught...

~0~

No gods attempted such a foolish enterprise again,

They'd learned the lesson Holmes had taught, the meaning clear and plain.

Though odds appear impossible, solutions still remain...

~0~


	30. Left Behind

_Prompt from Book girl fan: A friend is left behind_.

* * *

**Left Behind**

* * *

The rain came down in torrents;

Splashed the cobbled streets of London;

Holmes reached the warmth and safety

Of his Baker Street front door.

Lestrade was close behind him,

Shook the water from his greatcoat,

Which formed rivulets and puddles

On the freshly polished floor.

~0~

Stanley Hopkins joined the party,

Somewhat bruised and somewhat battered;

A far too close encounter

With a vicious king of crime.

Confrontation at the dockside,

As they rounded up their quarry.

A fire ripped through the warehouse;

They departed just in time...

~0~

Mrs Hudson watched them gather,

From the entrance to the kitchen;

Holmes could see her frowning

With a vaguely puzzled air.

He turned to speak to Watson,

Then he froze, in dread and horror;

He could see bedraggled Yarders,

But John Watson wasn't there!

~0~

Holmes recalled the recent battle

At the old abandoned warehouse;

He was sure he saw the doctor

Leave the building, with the rest.

Had he lost his close companion

In the flames and smoke and chaos?

He could feel a rapid heart beat,

As it hammered in his chest.

~0~

Rapid movements as the Yarders

Looked at Holmes in consternation,

And replaced their sodden clothing;

Heading out to brave the storm.

They would scour the streets of London;

They would find the missing doctor,

And would only cease their efforts

When their friend was safe and warm.

~0~

But...

The rescuers had barely

Left the shelter of the hallway,

When a damp and dripping figure

Bustled past them, head down low;

Holding tight to battered Gladstone ,

And a slightly charred umbrella;

A disgruntled, glum expression

Unmistakably on show.

~0~

Holmes schooled delighted features

To a more restrained demeanour;

As he helped his soggy Boswell

From his heavy, sodden coat.

Then chastised him for his lateness;

While pretending that he hadn't

Felt relief beyond all measure

And a lump constrict his throat.

~0~

With the parlour fire now blazing,

Tea and toast from Mrs Hudson;

And a pile of thick wool blankets;

All were snug, and all was well.

Warmth and food and conversation

Drove away those fears, unfounded,

As they listened to the doctor,

And the tale he had to tell...

~0~


	31. Midnight

_Prompt from BookRookie12: Midnight._

_Also answers an unanswered prompt from a previous year: What happened to Mr Hudson?_

_Many, many thanks to Hades, for setting this challenge up...this chapter is dedicated to her._

_Wishing everyone a peaceful and a happy new year:-)_

_A/N: All words are part of the poem..._

* * *

**Midnight**

* * *

**The cast:-**

_Mrs Hudson: most gracious of landladies; queen of upstairs and downstairs,_

_Her tenants: Detective and Doctor (the reason she now has so many grey hairs),_

_Arthur and Alice, the newest Irregulars, small scruffy dog at their side,_

_Lestrade, ferret-faced, and young Hopkins, his sidekick; a boyish moustache worn with pride,_

_Mycroft: quite pompous and vain on the surface, fond brotherly feelings concealed,_

_An unnamed mysterious gaolbird is next, identity not yet revealed,_

_Assorted Irregulars, Yarders and Henchmen, two rodents, then last but not least..._

_The friend and the spouse of the landlady mentioned, (small spoiler...they're somewhat deceased)_

* * *

**Scene one...**

_Is the Baker Street kitchen in chaos, spilled foodstuffs, smashed china and more;_

_Glass shards tell the tale of a breaking and entry, with footprints in mud on the floor_

_Which trail through the door to the landlady's bedroom, the scene of a struggle (off stage)_

_As in strides the Greatest Consulting Detective, his voice fairly trembling with rage._

_The loyal physician is two steps behind him, as shocked and alarmed as his friend;_

_Concerned for his landlady's health and wellbeing and perhaps her unthinkable end._

_~0~_

_Holmes—_Watson! I fear there has been an abduction!

Our dear Mrs Hudson has gone!

And here is a letter addressed to us both,

And her glove it was resting upon.

I will study the typing, the envelope markings,

The brand of adhesive, the seal,

Then open the letter with painstaking care,

And digest what the contents reveal.

~0~

_Dr Watson— ( frustrated, takes hold of the missive)_

We don't have all day to deduce;

Let us read what they say,

Then by all means dear Holmes,

Put your excellent skills to good use.

~0~

_Holmes frowns, then a shrug of concession as Watson slits open the note with swift care_

_His forehead quite furrowed, he unfolds the letter, and Holmes reads aloud the words there..._

_~0~_

_Holmes_:—*If you're reading this message

I'm certain you know Mrs Hudson is mine.

And terrible, horrible things will befall her,

If anyone steps out of line.

My aim is quite simple,

I wish to recover my share of the treasure, my due

And all I require is the right information...

And I will return her to you.

Some papers were filched by the late Mr Hudson,

That villain reneged on a pact.

Return them to me and I'll send back the lady,

With all of her digits intact.

You have until Wednesday, that's forty eight hours,

Till twelve chimes at midnight have struck

Delay it by even a second

And dear Mrs Hudson will run out of luck.

No tricks, no deception; you know I'll be watching,

I'm sure you are up to the task.

According to all I have read in The Strand,

There is no better person to ask.

Inform me of progress, send word through the Times,

I expect you'll be meekly compliant

Regards (from a hidden location of course)

Your rather verbose and worst client.*

~0~

_A silence, quite dense and subdued has descended, pervading the wrecked, shattered room_

_As Watson looks up from the ominous scribble, his features now heavy with gloom._

_~0~_

_Dr Watson—_we face an impossible case...

It is years since those papers were lost!

~0~

_Holmes— ( fingers steepled) But _if we don't try,

Mrs Hudson will bear the full cost!

~0~

_Holmes picks up the letter to study more closely, and stares at the prints on the floor_

_Doctor Watson reflects on his landlady's fate, and imagines what might lie in store..._

_~0~_

_Holmes—(frowning, a terrible thought has occurred) _

Dear fellow, this does not make sense;

We know Mr Hudson and sidekick are dead,

Have met with their Maker, past tense.

His sidekick's young daughter's in prison, you know;

We first spoiled her plans at that wedding...

~0~

_A knock, then Lestrade and young Hopkins barge in; conveying the news Holmes was dreading..._

_~0~_

_Lestrade—_You should know, that despite heavy guard...

There has been an escape from the jail.

A lady of mutual acquaintance has fled,

We are trying to pick up her trail.

We know that she strongly dislikes Mrs Hudson,

Has wished her a horrible fate.

Perhaps you should warn her of...

~0~

_Holmes— ( interrupting) _I am sorry to say, you're too late!

~0~

**An interlude...**

_Set in a tumbledown warehouse, a figure sits bound and forlorn_

_Bewildered and bruised by the turn of events, with her apron quite tattered and torn_

_She pins all her hopes on her untidy tenants, they've tackled such scrapes in the past_

_But will this remarkably difficult case turn out to be Sherlock Holmes' last?_

~0~

**Scene two...**

_Twelve hours later, their landlady's parlour,, with tea cups and papers stacked high,_

_All possibly relevant items are studied, as each vital minute ticks by._

_Holmes is curled up in a pink-patterned armchair, and wreathed in a cloud of grey smoke._

_Watson is making a note of his comments, a calm and meticulous bloke._

_Lestrade and young Hopkins are reading the papers, an unspoken hint of despair._

_~0~_

_A scuffle, a scratching sound down by the wainscot, Lestrade can't believe what is there_

_A small but quite angular smartly dressed rodent, his friend in a dapper brown suit,_

_Gaze up at the startled inspector and wave, they are barely as tall as his boot._

_Holmes spots them, exclaims, and leans down to their level, it's clear they have something to say..._

_~0~_

_Basil—_: We heard of the dreadful abduction.

We'd like to help out if we may.

You may not recall, we have lived here much longer,

Than you, Mister Holmes, that's a fact;

And we witnessed a scene, which we now understand

Was the late Mr Hudson's last act.

A clang from the kitchen, much later, a gunshot,

Then thuds, something hard hit the ground;

Then footsteps receding, a man who was limping;

A dragging and shuffling sound...

Some further shots heard,

Then your dear Mrs Hudson returning,, her horrified cry;

We could not check further, two cats were out prowling;

We had to stay hidden...or die...

~0~

_Some seconds passed by as four men and two rodents considered the tale of the mouse;_

_If bad Mr Hudson, had died in this building, the papers were still in the house_

_But not in this parlour, nor under the floorboards, the mice would have seen them before..._

_~0~_

_Holmes_: Leave all these papers, let's head for the kitchen,

That carefully polished tiled floor!

~0~

**Scene three...**

_In the kitchen, which looks like a bull has run through it, and smashed every tile,_

_A bundle of papers, retrieved, bringing hope to four desperate men, a brief smile._

_~0~_

_Holmes—_I have written a coded reply

Which young Arthur can take to The Times;

Then Wiggins can marshal the rest of the urchins,

To track down this mistress of crimes.

~0~

_Arthur's despatched to the newspaper office, with Alice and small scruffy hound_

_As Yarders and eager Irregulars move, there is dear Mrs H to be found..._

_~0~_

_Dr Watson—_there's one further task on your list,

Holmes, we must summon your brother;

Mycroft will help,

He enjoys Mrs Hudson's mince pies and fruit tarts like no other!

~0~

**Scene four...**

_Is of course near a tumbledown warehouse, in shockingly bad disrepair_

_Surrounded by equally tumbledown buildings which give it a sinister air._

_A cryptic reply in a housekeeping column, deciphered with Holmesian skill;_

_A message to meet at a certain location, devoid of glad tidings, good will._

_As per strict instructions, just Watson and Holmes are to meet for the "package" exchange;_

_Mad Elsie is ready and waiting, impatient to test out her new weapons range._

_Masked henchmen have just been recruited as back up, their advert had caught her keen eye..._

_~0~_

_Mad Elsie—_It's seventh time lucky for me.

I won't let my plans go awry!

~0~

_She looks at her helpless and tightly bound captive, there's time for another small gloat..._

_~0~_

_Mad Elsie_—My dear Mrs Hudson, I'm winning!

Success brings a lump to my throat.

I've plotted and plotted and plotted in prison,

Checked every conceivable flaw;

And once I've disposed of this thorn in my side,

I shall flee to a sunnier shore!

~0~

_She sweeps from the room with a twirl and a laugh, which doesn't precisely sound sane;_

_And leaves Mrs Hudson alone with her thoughts, and a soft tapping sound from the drain_

_She watches in wonder, two figures appear, both filthy; one thin and one stout..._

_~0~_

_Dr Dawson—_Thank heavens we've found you at last!

One moment, we'll help you get out...

~0~

_With the aid of a shard from a razor, some twine and, two pairs of quite tiny sharp teeth;_

_Mrs Hudson is gently released from her bindings, sits down on the floorboards beneath._

_And winces and stretches her cramped, stiffened muscles, and grins at her brave little friends..._

_~0~_

_Mrs H—_I believe there is work to be done,

Before this whole enterprise ends...

~0~

_Outside, the pale moonbeams show Holmes next to Watson, a package held high in one hand;_

_Alert for the sound of the click of a rifle, the flash of a blade, a last stand..._

_~0~_

_Holmes—_Here is your package, release Mrs Hudson,

And let her move out of harms way.

We know you're still seeking revenge for your father,

Forgetting that crime does not pay.

~0~

_Mad Elsie__ (with masked, yet familiar henchmen)

You won't get her back, she is mine!

It's time to dispose of my stubborn opponents,

Revenge served so cold is divine!

~0~

_She raises her pistol, her henchmen raise theirs, but aim them at Elsie instead;_

_Behind her, the touch of cold steel is apparent, and pressed to the back of her head._

_~0~_

_Mrs H—( It is she, who has crept from the shadows)_

Mad Elsie, you really should know,

That villains don't advertise skills in the Times,

A shame they bamboozled you so.

Those masks, I can tell Doctor Watson's fine stitching,

Black silk has a wonderful sheen.

~0~

_She smiles at the Yarders, unmasked and triumphant, Mad Elsie held firmly between._

_~0~_

_Mad Elsie—(Indignant at such a deception_)

I really don't know which is worse!

A smug Mrs Hudson, or two sneering Yarders.

Just give me a moment to curse!

~0~

_An incredulous wail, as she spots, on the pavement, two cheerful and filthy small mice..._

_~0~_

_Mad Elsie—_I'll never give up, just you wait!

You will all pay a terrible price!

~0~

_A clatter on cobbles as Mycroft arrives, in a carriage well-locked, and well-barred._

_Mad Elsie sighs once, then is led to the steps, cuffed in derbies, by men of the Yard._

_She turns to the team with a pitiful gaze..._

_~0~_

_Mad Elsie—_One final request...

Before I am led to a cold prison cell,

Alone, badly fed, badly dressed;

Can I please see the papers my father wrote out,

The treasure I sought for so long;

A kind of debriefing, I am anxious to know,

Just where my adventure went wrong.

~0~

_Holmes nodded, unrolling the papers face up; Mad Elsie's expression is frozen..._

_Oh, irony; harsh and dramatic, the treasure map led to the warehouse she'd chosen..._

_~0~_

**Last scene...**

_Has a well-laden table at Simpson's, a group of good friends gathered round;_

_All thankful and happy that dear Mrs Hudson is sitting there, safe and quite sound._

_Young Arthur and Alice, entranced by the treat, (it's Mycroft who's footing the bill)_

_Gaze out, saucer-eyed, at this opulent, magical spectacle, full of good will._

_Lestrade, looks at Watson and ponders past cases, a blackmailers murder, a mask.._

_He catches the doctor's calm, innocent eye, and judges it's best not to ask..._

_~0~_

_The time's close to midnight, all glasses are filled, an atmosphere full of good cheer..._

_~0~_

_Holmes—_All raise your glasses, at Mycroft's expense.

A toast to a Happy New Year!

~0~

_All glasses are raised and a hail of good wishes are passed from good friend, to good friend._

_As Big Ben rings clearly the twelve chimes of midnight, and hope lifts all spirits._

_~0~_

**The End**

* * *

_A/N 2:Mad Elsie first appeared in the drama section of my "A Study in Genes" and has regularly escaped in December, ever since..._


End file.
